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Rated: E · Other · Comedy · #2313866
A comedic anecdote about an old firehouse tradition
The Firefighter and the Donut

We all started out equal enough. I mean we all came from the same batch, the same ingredients. The same flour, sugar, eggs, etc. so why am I sitting here alone bored and slowly dying day by day from dehydration?

We all watched in anticipation as week by week the cooks scooped the flour, because that is where our consciousness truly lies you see, into the mixing bowls hoping against hope it was our turn. Then one day I felt a tug and knew that today it was I that was going to become a donut. I wriggled in anticipation. I was hoping to be glazed. It may sound boring but think about it, who doesn't like a good old-fashioned glazed donut? I figured that was my best shot at pleasing someone's tummy because that is our purpose in life after all.

Yes! After the dizzying mixer, then the pressure of the batter press, and finally the agony of the scalding oil I looked at myself and my new friends and we were all beautifully glazed. The wait on the rack seemed endless and we were all talking about where we wanted to go. One rather dull and boorish fellow was very vocal in letting everyone know he wanted to go to a mechanics' garage. Another very bookish individual was hoping for a boardroom in high finance. When I announced my goal was to feed the heroes in a firehouse it got very quiet and everyone looked at me and seemed to pity me. It felt very ominous.

Once again, my dream was realized as I was lifted from the rack and snuggled against some of my new friends in a double dozen box to hear, "Hey man, do you have an order for Firehouse 11?". We were gently placed in the passenger seat and the man drove away. We could hear from his phone conversation he was bringing us to his brother who was starting his first day at the firehouse and wanted to impress the other firefighters. My life was complete, this could not get any better!

We were unceremoniously tossed onto the kitchen counter and it became deafening with lots of shouting and overlapping conversations. I had expected us to be the center of attention and had been waiting for the moans of pleasure as we were enjoyed but, nothing. We sat for what seemed like hours until someone opened the box and said, "Hey guys, don't forget the rookie brought donuts". Now my dreams were coming true. One by one my new friends were snatched up and gulped down by hungry firefighters. The moans and smacking of lips made me impatiently await my turn. But one by one most of my friends disappeared and the box was closed, then the lights went out.

The few of us left looked at each other in disbelief. I began to wonder things like how long mold takes to grow and what if they just threw us away the next day. After an eternity the box was opened, the lights were on, and my friends began to slowly disappear again. This time the box stayed open and before you know it there were just two of us left. We looked at each other trying to hold back the fear and I even managed a weak smile. "Surely we will be eaten today", my companion said with an obvious lack of confidence.

I heard the alarms go off and the fire truck sped away with sirens blaring. This was our chance for sure because those guys would be starving when they got back. After another eternity they returned and sure enough, my companion was immediately grabbed up. I sat there alone willing someone to pick me up. I was getting a bit stale but was sure I could still please someone's palate. Soon I saw a hand reaching for me and finally my torture would be over. "Stop! What are you doing?", I heard. The hand pulled away and I was still untouched. One of the firefighters said, "Dumb rookie, you never eat the last donut". The rookie said, "Oh, sorry that would be rude right?". The other guy said, "No stupid, then you would have to throw away the box". The rookie says, "But the trashcan is right here". The other guy says, "That's not the point, it's a pride thing. You'll figure it out just never eat the last donut".

Oh no! I was filled with fear and now understood why the guys back on the cooling rack looked at me the way they did. One donut out of every box taken to a firehouse was sacrificed to the pride of the firefighters. As I listened to the firefighters tell the rookie about this tradition the true nature of my fate began to sink in. I would most likely sit on that counter until I began to mold, and the stink would cause someone, when no one else was looking of course, to finally end my torment and throw me mercifully into the trash bin.

And that my friends, is how I came to be sitting here bored and slowly dying of dehydration.

Sincerely, the last glazed donut of Firehouse 11.

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